


Not a Moment

by coconutcluster



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: DOMESTIC LOGICALITY, M/M, Oblivious Nerds, Panic Attack, ROMAN IS A DORK AND VIRGIL IS AN ENDEARING IDIOT, fake dating au, i got a request on tumblr so here we are, i just forgot about him rip, my first ever fake dating au, no deceit in this one btw, panic attack in ch 4, read the notes about the format!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-14 18:53:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17514065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coconutcluster/pseuds/coconutcluster
Summary: When Virgil's aunt sends out wedding invitations, Virgil finds a rather distressing component: "+1".Which would be fine - perfectly fine! - except that his only two viable options for a 'date' are going to Vermont over spring break, like the stupidly domestic couple goals they are, and leaving Virgil to mope about being friendless ~and~ dateless.Until he gets a new option - that is, a new option in the form of his chemistry lab partner volunteers himself.





	1. Magnum Opus

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY HERE'S THE DEALIO. This was originally a bullet-fic, which is to say that it was told through bullet points instead of normal format! (ADD can be a jerk in reading/writing sometimes, so bullet points make it easier to go with the flow through a story for me/AD(H)D readers!!!) That format didn't stop many details from showing up, it's just that the lines tend to be shorter (and the first chapter is a bit brief)! Just thought i'd let yall know~

It all starts at the family reunion (doesn't it always?).

Halfway through the quote-unquote “game time” (the adults played charades while Virgil and his cousins, Remy and Percy, sit and scroll on their phones), one of his aunt’s boyfriend proposes. 

Which is fine. It’s sweet, cute, even, but this particular aunt isn’t really big into parties or big events - hence the small gathering - and she decides, a week later, that the wedding will just be family and family friends in a nearby park over Virgil’s spring break.

Which is also fine! Virgil loves small gatherings because small = less people! 

The only not-fine thing, however, is the invitation his aunt gives him.

Specifically the bolded  “+1”

When he asks his mom about it, she tells him that he needs to bring a date - which is stupid, mind you, why should he have to bring someone? - but he shrugs it off and decides to bring his best friend and just chill during the ceremony. That’s fine. It’s all fine.

Until he calls up Patton and finds out he’s going up north with Logan over break.

So Virgil says, “Oh, cool, okay- uh, nevermind, then. Talk to you later, Pat.”

And promptly panics.

NOT ONLY is Patton going up north with his boyfriend and’ll be unavailable, but Virgil’s only other viable option is also going up north with his boyfriend, like a stupid adorable married _couple_ \- Virgil can only stuff his face in his pillow and groan.

 

Cut to school the next day - a.k.a. one week before the scheduled Doomsday, a.k.a. the supposed best day of his aunt’s life - and Virgil is kind of a mess.

His hair is even messier than usual, not to mention the fact that the purple dye is fading and he’s left with his natural black, but he can feel the bags under his eyes from a night full of panicking and zero sleep. He forgets concealer and doesn’t even realize until he catches his reflection in a window and sees his freckles bright and clear. Great.

He trudges through the halls all day, utterly exhausted and drained by the time he gets to his last-period chemistry class,,,

(the only issue there is his lab partner, always bursting with energy and chatter and crooked smiles and sparkly eyes- anD ANNOYING COMMENTS)

((….virgil has just a lil bit of a crush on him.))

(((just a little bit.)))

((((…a lotta bit.))))

He walks in and, sure enough, Roman Kingsley is chatting loudly with a few other theater kids who are all clustered around his and Virgil’s desk like Roman is a lighthouse for geeky kids who somehow use musicals and Shakespeare to be popular. 

Virgil takes a deep breath, shuffles his way over, and shoulders quietly past the kids and takes his seat.

He has his earbuds in, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees Roman wave at the kids as if he’s shooing them away before sitting down, and a second later, he feels a hand tap his shoulder.

He takes one earbud out and raises an eyebrow at a smiling Roman, ignoring the heat rushing to his face.

“What’s up with you today, Stormcloud?” Roman says, leaning his chin on the palm of his hand. 

Virgil squints. “What do you mean?”

“You seem down-”

“I’m always down.”

Roman actually snickers at that, and Virgil feels a tiny smile twitch at his mouth before he smothers it. “I guess so. Nothing’s wrong, though?”

And Virgil swears he means to say something about Roman minding his own business, or ‘why do you care,’ or- something edgy or reclusive, dang it-

But what actually slips out of his mouth is “Just stressed out about my aunt’s wedding.”

Immediately, alarms blare in his head - TMI ABORT ABORT ABORT YOU FU- 

Roman’s perfect eyebrows draw together. “Are you… planning it? Or something?”

What a fantastic idiot. “No,” Virgil says quietly, shifting the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands as he shrinks into his seat, “I just- I have to bring a date to my aunt’s wedding, and my best friend Patton is being a domestic geek with his boyfriend over break, so I can’t bring either of them, and I don’t talk to that many people, surprisingly enough-”

He’s cut off by Roman’s laugh, bright and rich and a lil bit dorky when his nose scrunches up, and Virgil’s eyes go wide. 

“I’m sorry,” Roman breathes between laughs, “that’s bad, I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at it- you’re just really funny, I’m-” His laughter dies out when Virgil blinks at him, though V kinda misses the sound as Roman clears his throat. “…sorry.”

“It’s fine. I don’t know what I’m gonna do, yknow?” They both go quiet for a moment - Virgil slowly turns back to his spot of the desk and mentally facepalms. Of course he doesn’t know, he’s frickin Roman Kingsley, you moron, but sure, go ahead and make every interaction with him as awkward as possible. Just stick to talking about ions next time.

“What day is it?”

He looks up, surprised, at Roman, who’s watching his expectantly. “Uh- next week. Next Friday.”

Roman perks up. “I’m free then! If you don’t have anyone else to take, I mean.”

“Oh.”

Oh. 

Oh, sh!t- Roman- the wedding- and he- anyone else?! As if Virgil could find anyone else better than flippin-

“Virgil?” Roman’s posture shrinks, just a little bit, and Virgil realizes he hasn’t responded any more. “You don’t have to say yes, I just thought-”

“No!” Roman jerks back at his outburst, eyebrows raised- frickfrickfrick- “I mean, yes! Yea, you can come, that’d be cool!” He clears his throat, calms down. “Fine, I mean. That’d be fine. Yes.”

The smile that lights up Roman’s face makes Virgil’s heart race - he’s disappointed that the Chem teacher chooses right then to start class, but he heads home with a little more hope for this wedding.

 

Until he goes and messes it up.

His mom is in the kitchen baking when he gets home, hair in a messy ponytail and face bright with a smile when she sees her son walk in. “How was school?” she asks as Virge sits at the island. 

“It was okay,” he says, grabbing a cookie as soon as she puts them on the counter. “I got a plus one for Aunt Patty’s wedding.”

His mom beams. “Is it Patton? I haven’t seen him in a while - you should invite him over!”

Virgil pauses chewing, setting the cookie down, still a little bit bitter despite himself. “No, Pat’s going to Vermont with Logan over the break.”

“Oh.” His mom slows as she starts washing dishes, gives him a sly look from the corner of her eye. “Who, then?”

“Roman Kingsley.” His mom raises an eyebrow. “From my chemistry class.”

“Ah…” She tilts her head at the tray she’s scrubbing and says, almost too quickly for Virgil to really process, “So, this is your… boyfriend, then?”

Emphasis on the too fast for him to process part. 

Emphasis on the he’s an idiot subtext.

“Yeah?”

Emphasis on he’s a complete and bumbling moron.

His mom perks up, her smile brightening by actual megawatts as her hands still over the sink. “Really? Aw, I can’t wait to meet him, honey!” 

wAIT NONONONONONO-

“Yeah,” he repeats lamely.

(nailed it.)

He’s very aware of his other option here. “No, he’s just nice and invited himself because I’m a loser whose only friends are already dating and leaving me to attend a wedding alone and be, once more for emphasis, a loser.” 

Also known as telling the truth.

Except that his mom looks so happy.

…that’s kind of his only motivator in this situation.

She’d be so disappointed if he corrected her; he knows, from the worried glances and hushed conversations with his dad, that she worries about him and his struggling - i.e. nonexistent - social life. He really doesn’t want to see the light in her eyes dissipate because of him. 

So he sticks with option one: he doesn’t correct her.

Also known as lying.

Also known as the magnum opus of his Stupidity.

Also known as having a lot to explain to Roman tomorrow.

  
  



	2. Okie Dokes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively known as "Virgil Manages to Be a Total (Gay) Mess Not Once, Not Twice, but Constantly!"

Virgil heads up to his room that night - he doesn’t miss his mom’s excited whispering to his dad as soon as he gets home from work, so now that’s two people he can’t disappoint - and collapses face first onto the bed.

He messed up. Big time.

How in the world is he going to approach Roman frickin Kingsley about this? Just walk up to him and say “Hey! I told my mom you’re my boyfriend and, since I’m such a disappointment in general, I didn’t want to make her even more upset so now you have to go along with my complete f*ck-up, despite the fact that you’re already doing this out of pity, sorry about that.”

(…actually, that’s not bad.)

But Virgil is lost and anxious and already guilty, face down in his sheets in his dark room, so he does what he knows best.

He calls Patton.

Patton picks up after the first ring - Virgil doesn’t deserve him, really; but it’s also kind of Patton’s fault that this happened, right? No. Not right. But…whatever - and Virgil tries to sound calm, but he knows Patton can decipher the waver in his voice better than anyone else, so he doesn’t actually try that hard. Or… at all. He’s not good at acting, anyway.

“Virge?” comes his best friend’s groggy voice over the line - it’s only ten o’clock, but Patton always has been an old man at heart. “Whas’ wrong?”

“I messed up, Pat. Really, really bad, and I don’t know what I’m gonna do- I’m an idiot and I’m really freaking out-”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, kiddo.” Virgil’s mouth snaps shut. “You’re not an idiot- what happened? Take your time.”

Virgil takes a deep breath and shoves his face back into his comforter. “So you know how you or Logan can’t come to the wedding with me?” He pauses for Patton’s reply, but the silence that follows gives him the notion that Patton is nodding, so he continues. “Well, at school earlier, I was in chemistry and- yknow Roman?”

“Kingsley? From drama?” A beat, and then, “The one you have a crush on?”

“Yeah! Wait-” Virgil groans into his pillow. “Yeah, yes, that Roman - he’s my lab partner so we sit at the same table, and this afternoon, he just asked what was wrong and I ended up telling him everything about the wedding and then he volunteered to be my plus one, and when I got home, my mom called him my boyfriend and I accidentally agreed and I don’t know what to do, Pat!”

“…tell your mom that he’s not your boyfriend?”

“I thought about it, but I don’t want to upset her,” he admits hesitantly - it sounds childish when he says it out loud, but he doesn’t want to lie to anyone else today.

Patton goes quiet again. “What exactly did you tell Roman?”

Virgil squeezes his eyes shut and tries to remember class, going over his and Roman’s conversation in his head. “That I had to bring a date to my aunt’s wedding, and I didn’t have anyone because you and Logan are being domestic geeks?”

“Well,” Patton says, after a small laugh at Virgil’s wording, “did you ever think maybe Roman has a crush on you, too?”

“…what? Of course not!”

“Kiddo, you called it a date. And then Roman invited himself.”

Oh.

Oh…

“Yeah, but…”

“Just tell Roman the truth, Virge. Something tells me he won’t have a problem with it.” They both go quiet; Virgil can tell Patton is close to falling asleep right then and there, until his voice sounds over the line again. “And Virge?”

“Yeah?” Virgil says quietly, sobered up from his panicking, if just a little bit. Patton has a way of calming him down.

(Virgil really doesn’t deserve him.)

“Don’t worry too hard, okay? Get some sleep tonight.”

Virgil gives a dry chuckle. “You got it. Love ya, Pat.”

“Love you, kiddo.”

 

The next day at school, Virgil would give anything to spontaneously combust.

He got eight hours of sleep! He showered this morning! He styled his hair how he likes - even though the dye is still fading, he really needs to buy more - and wore his favorite hoodie! He feels fine in all the ways that usually exhaust him!

But there’s still a pit in his stomach whenever he thinks about seventh period.

He goes through the day as functionally as he can, but time seems to pass by twice as quickly as usual; it’s like the clocks want to personally judo chop him in the throat and find this Hell as their only alternative.

Chemistry comes before he can blink, and he’s left trudging to his seat like a funeral dirge should be playing behind him (he wouldn’t object, actually. it might comfort him a little).

Roman’s pretty brown eyes squint as Virgil drops his backpack beside his seat with a heavy thunk - stupid US history textbook - and practically collapses into his chair. “What’s up?”

“I’m an idiot.”

Roman raises his eyebrows. “…you talk badly about yourself a lot.”

“I deserve it a lot.”

“I doubt that.” Before Virgil can even react to that, Roman twists in his chair to face him and says, “What happened? Maybe I can help?”

“…about that.” Roman frowns. “I kind of… listen, I really messed up and I’m really, really sorry, and you can totally get mad at me or back out or whatever and I’d understand because it’s my fault but-”

“Whoa, hey- back out of the wedding?” Roman says slowly, a hand shooting out to Virgil’s shoulder, as if to ground him. “Why would I do that?”

Virgil meets his eyes - how in the name of anything fair does someone get such pretty eyes? they’re dark and brown with specks of gold and green and it’s not fair, that’s how, it’s black magic or something - and immediately drops his head into the crook of his elbow with a groan so he doesn’t have to see Roman’s face when he says, “Mymomthnksyrmbfrnd.”

“…was that- can you say that again? In English?”

If it was socially acceptable, now would be about the time Virgil screams into the void. “My mom,” he mumbles into his elbow, “kinda thinks you’re my boyfriend.”

And the pit in his stomach turns into a whirlpool, the Charybdis of guilt and embarrassment, all localized within your neighborhood Idiot, also known as the tragic Virgil Sanders. He knows he’s ruined any chance he had at being friends with Roman, and this is just his last seconds before the guillotine strikes him.

(He’s very fond of macabre metaphors in times of distress.)

But then… that dorky laugh reaches his ears again.

He looks up with a jolt of surprise to see Roman with a hand to his mouth, barely covering the little laughs escaping, and sure enough, his nose is scrunched up like a fantastic lovely dork - the pit in Virgil’s stomach lets up, just a little.

“Why is that?” Roman wheezes, but somehow, Virgil knows he’s not making fun of him. He feels a smile quirk at his mouth.

“She- uh, I mentioned the wedding, and she kinda… jumped to conclusions. And then I was dumb and went along with it because I’m afraid of making my mom cry.”

Roman grins, a stupid perfect crooked smile that gives him one dimple and crinkles his eyes at the edges and make Virgil’s face go pink. “I don’t blame you on that. So, what would you like me to do, then?”

Virgil blinks at him. “To do?”

“At the wedding?” Roman gives him a playful nudge with his elbow, that smile still on his face. “As your apparent boyfriend, and all.”

Heat rushes to Virgil’s face as he clears his throat. “Oh. Right. Uh… you’re an actor, right?”

“Of course!”

“Okay, could you… do you think you can just pretend for the ceremony? That we’re dating? It’ll only be a few hours, if you’re okay with it.” Something flickers in Roman’s eyes - it looks a little like disappointment, but that’s almost definitely Virgil projecting. “You don’t have to come- I’m really sorry I got you into this mess-”

“Don’t apologize,” Roman says quickly, “I offered to come! Truly, it’s no problem.” His smile falters for a split second, before it’s bright and perfect again. “Acting is my specialty. I’ll be there.”

Virgil breathes a sigh of relief, dropping his head back into his elbow - he guesses he has to thank Patton - and thanking every star in the sky that it would work out.

Roman Kingsley is an actual angel.

 

The rest of the week goes by relatively smoothly, to Virgil’s relief, and spring break comes like a savior - Virgil is totally prepared to stay in bed for the full two weeks and forget about the rest of the world, but that Saturday, two days before the wedding, he gets a text from an unknown number.

**Hey! It’s Roman!!!**

Virgil stares at the text for a good minute and a half. Somehow, Roman Kingsley got his number and is now texting him, which is surreal enough on its own, but he also manages to use exclamation points as much as Patton.

He starts to wonder if every friend he makes is an absolute dork.

 ** _Hey_** , he texts back after another minute of squinting suspiciously at his phone screen. _Think of something clever, somethin’ cool- musical reference? He likes musicals… I don’t know anything but Hamilton._ Frickfrickfrick- _**what’s up?**_

(Nailed it.)

**R: Nm!! I was just wondering what I should wear to the wedding! You said it was at a park, right?**

**V: yea, a button up and tie would be fine tbh**

He stares at his screen, chewing absentmindedly on his lip, and before he can second guess himself, he sends, **_how did you get my number??_**

**R: Logan Berry gave it to me - he has Tech when I have Theater, and I’ve seen you guys hang out at lunch so I gave it a shot :9**

**R: (He told me they’d find my body in a river if I said anything mean to you)**

**R: ((I don’t know who ‘they’ is but I didn’t really want to ask))**

Fantastic. He’d have to talk to Logan later.

**V: yeah sorry about that, lo is a character. he’s actually really nice, just protective??**

**V: you coulda just asked me for my number yknow**

Roman types for a full two minutes, those three bouncing dots appearing and reappearing the whole time, and Virgil starts to think he messed up somehow-

**R: i was nervous**

**R: Oh shoot, my mom’s calling me for dinner, I gotta go :p**

**R: But I’ll talk to you later!!! <3**

Virgil stares at his phone, eyebrows scrunched together - Roman was nervous? About talking to him?

And then his eyes land on the little heart at the end of Roman’s text message. His face goes pink, and he types out a quick **_okie dokes!_** and throws his phone to the end of his bed because he’s an idiot in every sense of the word.

(”okie dokes”? really?)

(…maybe Patton’s been rubbing off on him more than he thought.)

Virgil goes over the conversation in his head, staring wide-eyed at his ceiling, and realizes two things.

One: he has an outfit to plan.

Two: he has a nerd to interrogate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a.k.a. im not allowed to have multi-chaps done before i post them bc i have no patience and want to post Every Chapter at Once


	3. Bubbline and Bowties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interrogating nerds, seeing Mom Dork, and meeting even more nerds!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dorky chapter names and Lexi-updating-literally-24hrs-after-the-last-update? it's more likely than you think

The setting: Sunday night, one day before the Wedding (which has earned its capitlization as a monumental occasion, a.k.a. “Virgil Has Friends???” as his cousin Remy so amicably named it).

The scene: Virgil the Tragic and Tragically Gay - also a name of Remy’s creation - destroying his room with heaps of clothing thrown at bullet-speed. 

(He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t break his window with a stray sneaker.)

The motive: Virgil is not only an idiot, but an idiot with no sense of style or time management.

“Logan, I have  _ nothing what do I wear- _ ” 

“I’ve already told you,” Logan drones from Virgil’s laptop, the boredom clear in his eyes even with the grainy visuals of Virgil’s webcam and the glare of his glasses, “I’m the last person you should be asking about this. Weren’t you talking to Remy right before this? Why couldn’t you have just asked him?”

Virgil pops his head out of his closet, a stray t-shirt draped over his face and blocking half his vision as he glares at the computer on his bed. “Rem would just make fun of me and leave after two minutes,” he goes back to digging through his hurricane of a closet with a huff. “You, on the other hand, are legally obligated to stay here with me.”

“I am under no legal-”

“YOU GAVE ROMAN KINGSLEY MY NUMBER WITHOUT ASKING ME, YOU’RE STAYING RIGHT THERE.”

Virgil’s face is stuffed into a pile of old band tees and too-distressed jeans from the dark days of sixth grade, but the lack of reply from the laptop tells him that Logan is probably pinching the bridge of his nose or praying to some god that he doesn’t crawl through a computer screen and murder one of his best friends right then and there. (Good. Let him get charged with murder. He deserves it.)

“Are you not…  _ infatuated  _ with Roman? Did I mistake your crush for the wrong person?” comes his deadpan voice a moment later - Virgil knows he knows he got it right, stupid smart jerk. “He asked for your number and I made an educated guess, then acted upon it for the advancement of your relationship with him, platonic or otherwise; besides, you seemed rather happy when you called me in the first place.”

“It doesn’t matter how happy I am or was or ever have been,” Virgil says, crawling from the closet like some slithery nightmare creature -  _ aesthetic  _ \- and glaring at Logan through his messy bangs. “You went behind my back-”

“Roman went behind your back,” Logan corrects. 

“Whatever! The point is, you owe me, and your debt is being paid through helping me look nice at my aunt’s wedding.”

“I doubt I’ll be able to do much for you, Virgil. It’s in your best interest to hang up right now and allow me to return to my-”

“To your what? Your nerd books? Your phone? You gonna go call Patton to fawn over him for the twelfth time tonight?” Logan’s face goes bright red, and Virgil gives him a victorious smirk. “That’s what I thought, you domestic freaking nerd. Now help me choose a shirt.”

“I know where you live, Virgil,” Logan grumbles, though he doesn’t hang up, just leans closer to his webcam to squint at the options Virgil smugly presents to him. He frowns at white button-up that’s littered with wrinkles - to be fair, Virgil hasn’t worn it since his eight grade band concert. “Why can’t you wear your hoodie to the wedding? It’s your aunt; won’t she understand your usual attire?”

Virgil recognizes the softness in his friend’s voice - Logan knows how much his hoodie means to him, the weighted comfort it gives him when he’s overwhelmed and frustrated and exhausted from the too-quick happenings of everything around him - and is almost embarrassed to meet his eyes over the screen, sheepishly admitting, “I don’t wanna look bad in front of Roman.”

“…ah.” Logan squeezes his eyes shut and sighs. “I say the black button down. Do you have any ties?”

“I think I have a purple bow tie here somewhere-”

“That should suffice.” He goes quiet for a beat, a single eyebrow raised as he thinks; Virgil can practically see the gears turning in his little genius head. “Please call me if Roman says anything to upset you.”

Virgil snickers. “What, so you can put his body in a river?”

“…he told you about that.” Logan squints at nothing in particular, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I didn’t say I’d put it there, mind you; I just said that’s where they’d find it.” 

“Right.” Virgil smooths out the shirt Logan chose for him, relieved to have another hurdle completed in the anxiety of the last two and a half weeks, until Logan’s voice breaks him from his thoughts. 

“Virgil?” He looks over, wide-eyed, at the gentle tone. “You really are free to call me tomorrow. If you need to.”

In the rare, rare times Virgil doubts it, Logan never fails to prove how perfect he and Patton are together - despite the biting wit and cynical commentary, he’s remarkable at understanding people, and his blunt way of comforting is a oddly fitting counter to Patton’s warm smiles. 

Maybe it’s just how much time they spend around each other nowadays, but Virgil is sure he sees Patton’s trademark sparkle in Logan’s eyes. 

Virgil gives him a small, genuine smile. “You got it.”

 

“Virgil! Honey, you have someone at the door!”

_ Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu-  _ “Coming!”

Despite his many failed attempts at tying his bow tie before success, and nearly breaking his neck on the dozens of clothes still scattered across his floor, Virgil has actually managed to make himself presentable. His hair is, admittedly, completely back to his natural color, and his mom convinced him to go concealer-less, but the shirt Logan picked makes his purple tie pop, and he has to admit that he likes the look. 

(He does miss his hoodie, though.)

He races down the stairs and to the front entrance - the small, giddy smile on his mom’s face should have been telling enough, but he’s swinging the door open before he considers who’s actually behind it and has he mentioned he’s an idiot?

Roman is standing on the front porch, stark against the muted tones of Virgil’s neighborhoods in a white button-down and cleanly pressed black slacks, a dark red blazer draped over his arm and a red bowtie snug at his collar. His hair already in waves from the damp pre-rain air outside; he gives a beaming smile when he sees Virgil in the doorway. 

_ F*ck. _

Virgil blinks open-mouthed at him for a good ten seconds before he remembers English, which is totally casual and smooth and a fantastic way to greet someone. 

“Hey,” he says.

The epitome of suave.

“Hey!” Roman says cheerily - his gaze flickers over Virgil’s outfit, and Virgil prays to God that his mom isn’t watching from over his shoulder, even though he can feel her shining gaze on his back as his face heats up. “Sorry I’m here a little early, I didn’t want to make a bad impression.” Roman winks at a spot behind Virgil - theory confirmed. 

Virgil glances over his shoulder to see his mom waving excitedly at them, a smile lighting up her face like the sun, and he forces his mouth into a small smile despite the unending screaming in his head. 

(His brain is on fire. Spongebob has never been more relatable.)

“You must be Roman,” his mom gushes, suddenly at his shoulder - dONT SCREAM DON’T SCREAM - to beam at Roman through the doorway. “I’m so excited to finally meet you!”

Roman raises his eyebrows, clearly shocked, and Virgil is about to apologize when the red-clad boy brightens up. 

“Hello!” Roman smiles - those little dimples whittle themselves into his cheeks and his eyes crinkle up at the edges, the freaking posterboy of  _ stupid fantastic adorableness- _ “You must be Virgil’s mom! It’s lovely to finally meet you, too - Virgil speaks very highly of you.” 

His mom lets out a little gasp and squeezes Virgil’s shoulder before shuffling past him to usher Roman into the house, already babbling to him about how “sharp you look, oh my gosh, you and Virge have the little bowties- I love it!” 

(If given the option, Virgil would kiss Roman right then and there for making his mom so happy.)

((Not that he thinks about kissing Roman.))

(((…well, now he’s thinking about it…))) 

(((( _ frick whatever _ ))))

“Virgil, honey! I’m grabbing my jacket and then we’re headed out! Can you show Roman to the car?” his mom calls from down the hall, a giggle obvious in her voice. (Virgil knows he doesn’t have a ton of friends, but this is just getting sad.)

Roman sidles back up to him, his mouth curled into an amused smile as he glances back toward where Virgil’s mom disappeared, and Virgil has to be imagining the smattering of pink across his cheeks. “I can see why you wouldn’t want to make her cry,” he whispers, leaning in to consult Virgil like it’s supposed to stay between them.

Which is fine, that’s fine, Virgil’s fine. Just casually cursing literally every living thing on planet Earth that he didn’t wear any foundation or concealer to cover the bright red blush he knows is crossing his face right then. But its fine.

S’cool.

He’s going to die by the end of today.

 

The car ride is quiet, calm, and although Roman volunteering to sit in the back with Virgil so they can sit together almost makes him go into cardiac arrest, they get to the wedding venue - a cute, open meadow, complete with a few picnic tables and a wedding arch covered in violet flowers - in one piece. 

The sky is a cool grey: not exactly the sunny spring afternoon his family probably wanted, but Virgil isn’t complaining (though he wonders if he should have brought his hoodie after all, in case it rains). He gets out of the car with a small smile on his face, the anxiety in his stomach lessening as Roman gives him a wink and they go to one of the nearby tables. 

“Virge!” 

They both glance back at the boistrous voice to find Remy, sunglasses on (despite his classic tuxedo) as he claims a seat at their table, followed by a boy with pink-dyed hair and a matching tie, eyes bright behind tortoise-shell glasses. Virgil raises an eyebrow.

“Glad to see you actually navigated your closet, hun - I  _ swear  _ I saw your room on the news for a category 4 hurricane,” Remy smirks, lowering his glasses to look over Virgil’s outfit despite his cousin’s scowl. His gaze flickers to Roman. “Ooooh, so you’re the cutie Virgil keeps-”

“Who’s your friend, Rem?” Virgil cuts him off, giving a swift kick to his cousin’s shin under the table before turning his attention to the tie-clad boy in the next seat, who waves belatedly. 

“Emile,” he introduces himself with an enthusiastic handshake to both Virgil and Roman - he already reminds Virgil of Patton, and that alone endears the bouncing boy to him - as Remy hisses through his teeth. “Emile Picani. You all must be Virgil and Roman!” 

Virgil can’t help but give a smile at Emile’s bubbly nature, even if it’s a bit much to take in at once. “That we are.” He exchanges a quick glance with Roman, whose mouth is pulled into a barely-contained smile as he watches the pair across the table, clearly curious. “Are you and Remy-?”

“Back off my boyfriend, bitch,” Remy mutters, still holding a hand to his assaulted shin. Emile scrunches his nose up with a smile. 

“You two are adorable,” the pink-haired boy continues like a breeze, turning back to the pair across the table, and Virgil’s face heats up again. “Oh! And you guys- you know who you seem like?” Emile gasps, round green eyes going rounder as he looks between Roman and Virgil, as if he’s had some great eureka moment. “The colors and faces and- you’re Bubbline, oh my gosh!”

Virgil blinks at him. “Bubbline?”

“Well, I’d say that goes to you guys!” Roman smiles and laces his and Virgil’s fingers together - did everyone want him to catch on fire? “You even have the pink hair! And Remy does seem a bit more Marceline than Virgil does; no offense, love.” 

(Definitely going to catch on fire.)

Virgil is still clueless and bright red in the face, but Emile lights up like a Christmas tree. 

“That is the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” he breathes - Remy finally looks up, clearly offended, but when Emile turns to him a second later to smile about their newfound title, his expression softens, and Virgil can see the heart eyes behind those aviator sunglasses. Virgil starts to think this wedding might be more fun than he anticipated. “Rem- Rem, you’re Marceline- we’re Bubbline!”

“I love it, babe,” Remy says quietly, grabbing one of Emile’s hands and brushing his thumb across it lightly. 

Virgil looks over at the sound of a soft sigh - Roman is watching the pair with wistful eyes and a small smile, raising his eyebrows when Virgil elbows him lightly in a silent question. 

“What?” he whispers dramatically, as if Remy and Emile  _ couldn’t  _ hear him if they just bothered to break their adoring gaze with each other. “I can’t help it, I’m a hopeless romantic.”

And something in Virgil’s stomach flips at that. 

_ We could do that _ , he almost says, before swallowing the words at the last minute; no, they could not do that, because Remy and Emile aren’t keeping up a ruse for one day. If Roman wants to gaze into someone’s eyes, Virgil will let him wait for someone and something real - he knows it’s not fair to force him into anything more than he’s already done. 

(That’s when the reality of the situation really strikes him: this is all fake. The winks, the hand-holding, the shmoozing his mom - Roman is a fantastic actor, and he’s just helping out the pathetic friendless boy from his chem class.)

((And suddenly the wedding doesn’t seem so fun.)) 

“Virgil?”

He breaks out of his spiral to meet Roman’s eyes, which are filled with concern - Virgil can’t help but feel that’s fake, too, even if it hurts him - as he watches the brooding boy at his side, and Virgil feels their fingers lace tighter. “Are you okay?”

The pit in his stomach is back full force - he wants end the day here, let the happiness of the ruse be fresh in his memory before it crumbles this evening. But he knows it’s not fair to make Roman do all the work. He got them into this mess, so he’d do his best to play his part.

“Yeah,” he smiles and squeezes Roman’s hand back. “Let’s get through this wedding.”


	4. Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAN yall just roasted Virgil last chapter,,, prepare for even more obliviousness to roast him for

Virgil, with all his forced family interactions throughout his life, is surprisingly good at faking a smile.

Not that it’s not a challenge - every time Roman looks over at him with sparkly eyes or bright grin, his stomach suddenly decides to pursue a career in acrobatics and misery, and it’s just a smidgen harder to maintain his simple smile (if, by chance, you understand that a ‘smidgen’ is equal to or greater than the magnitude of a semi truck or perhaps a small sun) - and it’s barely an hour after their arrival that he’s utterly exhausted from all the effort to hide his distress. 

It doesn’t help that Remy keeps lowering his glasses to slide his gaze between Virgil and Roman with raised eyebrows. 

“Hey, are you doing okay?”

Virgil snaps out of the glare he has set directly on his winking cousin - if Remy weren’t such a smooth motherf*cker, it’d look like he was spasming in the face - and focuses on Roman, whose eyebrows are furrowed together. “What?”

“You’re really quiet now,” Roman says lowly, turning so only Virgil can hear him. “I know you’re always quiet, but- you just seem upset. Is everything alright?”

Roman’s eyes are dark with concern, his crooked grin smoothed out into a minuscule frown as he waits for Virgil’s answer, which is  _ fine  _ except that Roman’s eyes are a really rich shade of brown with gold and green speckled in and are somehow still shining under the cloudy sky and it’s  _ not fine because Virgil can’t freaking talk with those eyes focused on him _ -

“Yeah,” he chokes out finally. Roman looks unconvinced. “I’m fine, just…”

“Are the people too much?” Virgil blinks at him - there’s only about twenty people milling about the park, though they’re mostly migrating to the seats before the wedding arch as two o’clock draws nearer - and Roman clears his throat. “I just thought- I know anxiety sometimes gets bad in crowds. We can hang in the car for a few minutes, if you need it.”

Virgil feels his face go red.  _ I know anxiety gets bad-  _ He crosses his arms over his stomach as a measly shield against the thoughts rushing through his head. 

“How’d you know I have anxiety?” he mumbles- is it that obvious?

“My sister has it,” Roman says easily. “She even has the same fidget cube as you, with the rainbow buttons and stuff?” Before Virgil can ask when Roman saw his fidget cube - which he always keeps hidden under the table when he pulls it out in class - Roman’s mouth quirks back into a smile as he watches Virgil, a fond glint in his eyes. “You actually remind me of her a lot.”

Virgil’s frantic thoughts screech to a halt. “I remind you of your  _ sister _ ?”

“Yeah! You’re both quiet, and smart, and fantastic at art.” He reaches over and tilts Virgil’s chin up, either ignoring or completely missing the bright red blush across Virgil’s face as he smiles, “You even have freckles like her. I like yours more, though- don’t tell her I said that.” His gaze flickers down, across the bridge of Virgil’s nose, where the main cluster of his freckles sit before spanning across his cheekbones, and Roman’s face brightens with yet another beam. 

Virgil doesn’t quite understand how one person can smile this much - even Patton has his moments of quiet stoicism, for Pete’s sake. 

(But he’s suddenly and unmistakably glad he didn’t put on concealer this morning.)

And then Roman leans in - Virgil realizes there’s still a hand under his chin, guiding its position, as his cheeks go pink - and presses a tiny kiss to the tip of Virgil’s nose. 

Virgil freezes.

He knows he’s prone to panicking. He’s very good at it, too, which is what practice will get you, you know?  So he’s not exactly inexperienced at tuning into the alarm ringing in his head at that very minute, as his eyes go wide - it’s a very specific alarm blaring in his head, one that sounds just a little bit like- oh, how to describe it… ah yes. 

**_AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH_ **

Virgil’s brain is absolutely on fire as Roman leans back to smile at him, a crooked little thing that scrunches his nose up, and say, “I’ve never seen freckles as stars,” in a voice low and soft, like it’s a secret between them. “You know they’re called ‘summer sprouts’ in German? Like flowers. I think that’s perfect - you have a garden on your face, and the stars can stay in your eyes.”

And Virgil is very, very glad that that’s the kind of thing you’re supposed to inhale, soak in, contemplate and store forever in your memory to look back on when you need to- because he’s not sure he’ll be able to speak for the next twelve and half years. 

Maybe thirteen. 

“Roman…” he manages, albeit shakily, because holy sh!t-

And then he sees a flash go off. 

Both their gazes snap to where his mom is huddled with Remy’s, fawning over the phone held between them, clearly harboring the picture they’d snuck so furtively. His mom glances up, waves sheepishly. Virgil’s brow knits as he pulls it together, stomach heavy once more - they have an audience. 

And Roman, ever the actor, performed. 

Virgil’s heart starts beating in his chest like a caged animal as he reminds himself of the circumstances - or rather, as the circumstances knock him over like a tidal wave. He’s let himself get caught back up in the maelstrom of a delusion, an act, a favor he’s put too much stock into; none of this is real, none of it, not the smiles, or the scrunched noses, or tiny kisses or poetic compliments or  _ anything.  _ It’s his own circle of hell, this cycle of lost-in-the-moment to reality-strikes and back again, and he needs out. He needs to breathe. He can’t  _ breathe _ -

“Virgil?” Roman’s watching him with those glimmering eyes again, and it pushes him right off the edge.

“I have to go,” he chokes, standing up so quickly his flimsy folding chair topples backward. Roman reaches a hand out, but he staggers back, trying to swallow the jumble of thoughts clawing their way up his throat; the world is spinning now, a carousel of suits and flowers and muffled chatter and the blood rushing through his ears. “Just- I’ll be right back. Just a minute.” 

And then he’s stumbling back through the pine trees that frame the dirt path to the park, steps clumsy and destination unknown as his palms scrape against the trees’ bristles in passing. He can’t think straight, can’t walk straight- 

The sudden feeling of raindrops on his arms is the only thing that drags him back to full-frontal reality, chilling and gentle against his skin. His head clears for just a moment; he feels the heaving of his chest and forces a breath into his lungs, filled with the comfort of rain and pine. He spots his mom’s car just a few meters away and forces himself to cross them. 

A far-off crack of thunder seems to signify his arrival as he slides down the side of the passenger seat door, lowering himself to the ground with his eyes squeezed shut and face tilted up toward the gray sky. His heart still hammers in his chest, but it’s more like an importunate child now, pounding against the floor in a tantrum. It’s concerning, annoying, but it’s manageable. 

He’s so  _ stupid _ . 

He’d expected so much, gotten his hopes up the minute Roman volunteered to come to the wedding- he’d built himself up, used Patton’s encouragements and Logan’s brash acceptance to construct a breath of hope for today’s outcome, and it’s his fault it all crashed down. He just couldn’t accept that pity’s the only reason Roman is here, and now he’s gone and screwed up their little charade, leaving Roman, who’s done so much already, to pick up the slack all over again. 

The rain falls harder - he thinks back to this morning, how his hand hovered over his hoodie before he raced down the stairs. How he wishes he had the comfort of its patched sleeves on his arms now. 

“Virgil!” 

His head snaps up from where it’s rested on his arms, crossed over his knees, to see Roman tripping through the treeline, a stray pine needle stuck in his tousled chestnut waves. He’s slightly out of breath.

“Virge- Virgil, god, I’m sorry,” he pants as he rushes to Virgil’s side, blazer draped haphazardly across his forearm. “I’m really, really sorry- I didn’t even think before I said that whole thing, and you were already upset, and I just leaned in and- are you okay?” 

Virgil stares up at him, watching as he shakily takes a seat next to him, sure to keep a small distance between them. It’s a small gesture, but the sheer fact that Roman considered it makes tears prick at the edges of Virgil’s eyes, and he stuffs his face back into his arms before they can spill over his cheeks. “Yeah. Sorry I ran out like that.”

“Don’t apologize.” Roman glances up at the sky and back to Virgil. “Oh, you’re gonna be soaked- hold on.” He pulls his blazer off his arm, then drapes it over Virgil’s shoulders. It’s soft on the inside, warm, and it smells like vanilla and some cologne, like Roman. 

It’s too much all over again.

“Stop,” Virgil whispers - Roman’s hands pull back in a flash, eyes wide. “Just- stop being so nice and thoughtful and genuine and- and- you can’t- I can’t  _ do this _ , Roman.”

“Can’t do what?” Roman’s voice is almost lost to the rain hitting the ground around them. 

“I can’t just act like all of this is  _ nothing  _ to me!” Roman’s brows furrow together, but Virgil is off before he can say anything, “Because I want it to be something so bad, and I’m sorry I dragged you into this when that’s how I feel- it’s unfair, and selfish, I know, but I couldn’t bring myself to stop it, and now we’re here, and you’re  _ still  _ being sweet when I don’t deserve it- I don’t know what to do about it anymore-”

“Virgil.” 

“ _ What _ ?”

Roman’s easy smile is morphed into a frown, eyes glinting with disbelief and something Virgil can only name exasperation. “You think I think this is all nothing?” A beat of silence, and he lets out a single, almost manic laugh. “Virgil, I’ve been a mess for the last three weeks trying to wrap my head around how to not screw this whole thing up with you!” 

Virgil’s face, pinched with frustration, goes slack. “What?”

“I’ve wanted to be your friend since  _ freshman year _ ,” Roman breathes, “and when I saw you last year in art with paint on your hands and a spot of yellow on your cheek, smiling like a ray of freaking sunshine, I couldn’t even  _ move  _ because everything about you is so spectacular that I can’t understand it all at once! And then you came into Chemistry and vented about the wedding and I talked without thinking, and you said  _ yes _ , and I flipped out; I begged Logan Berry for your number- I literally got on my knees in front of the entire drama class to get your number! It took me  _ two weeks to pick this bowtie _ ! Every single second I’m around you is fantastic and I just want to bottle it all up- for your laugh, and freckles, and the way your smile is always quirked to the side, and how you look at people through your eyelashes before anything else, and  _ everything _ -” He takes a shaky breath, hands dropping from their emphatic arcs through the air as he meets Virgil’s eyes, painted clearly with a flurry of desperation and fondness. “This has never been  _ nothing  _ for me, Virgil. Not a single second of it.”

They fall quiet as Virgil stares at him, open-mouthed and wide-eyed. His heart hammers in his chest again, but it’s no longer a tantrum-throwing toddler - it’s the beat of rain and thunder in his chest as lightning flashes overhead, coursing through his veins like electricity. 

And then he shoots forward.

Their lips connect with a crash of thunder in the sky above - the rain falls harder as Roman’s arm wraps around his waist, secure and strong, and fire erupts in his chest, sending branches of warmth to the tips of his fingers, which are curled into Roman’s messy waves with reckless abandon. 

It’s a quick kiss. Virgil feels incomplete when he pulls away, but after the rollercoaster of emotion in the last ten minutes, he’s afraid to delve deeper - Roman doesn’t complain, despite the unbridled joy in his eyes, just keeps an arm around Virgil’s waist as he smiles. 

“We should probably get back to that wedding,” he murmurs, a song against the constant rhythm of the rain. 

Virgil breathes a laugh. “Yeah, I guess.” 

But they stay sitting for a few moments, eyes closed and foreheads leaned together as the sky rumbles above them, and Virgil can’t help but play Roman’s words on repeat in his head:

_ This has never been nothing. Not a single second. _


End file.
